


Something Like Light

by erunamiryene



Series: Codex: Questionable Judgment [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluff and Humor, JUST KISS ALREADY, Mutual Pining, Not A Story Where the Girl 'Saves' the Boy, Redeemed Vaylin (Star Wars), Redemption Requires Work, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:36:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erunamiryene/pseuds/erunamiryene
Summary: After so long in the darkness of Valkorion's influence, Arcann must learn to live in the light. Nothing about that says he has to admit his burgeoning romantic feelings for the Outlander's sister, though.Ca'ii Sartoris has always had a tendency to "pick up strays," as her sisters used to put it, and it's only natural that she'd take pity on Arcann, refusing to leave him to an existence of isolation within the Alliance. Nothing about that says she has to admit her burgeoning romantic feelings for the son of Valkorion, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We kick off right at the end of KotFE, and get to watch two nerds try to deny their feelings through the vast majority of KotET.
> 
> Major Raitlia Sartoris, formerly of Havoc Squad: Alliance Commander  
> Captain Ca'ii Sartoris, Esteemed Privateer and General Ray of Sunshine: The Alliance Commander's Sister 
> 
> A few notes:  
> \- The timeline for KotET is just too compressed for me, so I'm stretching it out. As usual, this means fudging some details and moving them around. Any discrepancies with canon are supposed to be there.  
> \- While I did enjoy what we got as far as cutscenes for the romance, I'm not the biggest fan of reusing game dialogue in my fic (I did it once, probably won't do it again), so I'm just redoing the whole scene. If I wasn't stretching the romance into a slow burn, I might not (because honestly I really enjoyed the two cutscenes and the emails), but here we are. Canon has been carved up for the juicy bits and roasted at 425. XD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story begins aboard a two person shuttle, leaving the destruction of Arcann's flagship behind them.

It should have been Kryn.

Not that Ca’ii would wish Vitiate on any of her sisters - or anyone, really - but of the three of them that answered Darth Marr’s call, Vitiate taking up residence in Kryn’s head would have made the most _sense_. Already tied to the Force, an astonishingly powerful Sith in her own right. 

It should have been Kryn but Kryn died side by side with Darth Marr, advancing on the former Sith emperor with murderous intent, in an explosive lightning strike that lit up the top of the Spire. 

Surely Force bonds aren’t as fanciful as they’re depicted on the Holonet, and it’s not like Ca’ii is exactly an expert on the things, but the holodramas almost universally depict those who suffer a severed Force bond as half-mad, almost feral, driven over the edge by a malady of the soul for which there is no remedy. 

Yes, perhaps it’s for the best that Kryn didn’t survive. 

Raitlia, of all the Sartoris clan the most natural leader, is who Arcann turned to for an alliance - an alliance that turned out to be shorter lived than even Ca’ii expected - and whose mind Valkorion chose to inhabit, as Ca’ii found out after Lana and Koth mounted quite the exciting rescue of the carbonite-frozen Havoc Squad major and her smuggler captain sister. 

As Raitlia drew allies to her side, stepping into leadership of a ragtag coalition as naturally as she herded her younger sisters in a former life that now seems impossibly distant, Ca’ii remained by her side, lending help where needed, speaking for mercy when Raitlia’s jaw was too tight, her green eyes too angry, her knuckles pale with the strength of her grip on her assault cannon. 

Ca’ii is angry too, but Ca’ii has seen enough death, enough fear, enough misery. Too many people stripped of their humanity, the smell of carbon and smoke and blood. Of all her sisters, even her Jedi sisters, Ca’ii has always been the most positive, the most relentlessly upbeat, the diehard believer that things will get _better_ if everyone just tries hard enough. And so she stops her sister from taking out her enmity on Zakuul, on anyone who crosses her, because Ca’ii won’t see her principled, honorbound oldest sister turn into a mirror of the hatred they’re trying to fight. 

Truth be told, even with all that Ca’ii didn’t expect Raitlia to show Arcann mercy, nor Senya for stealing him out from under their noses. Not after Kryn’s death and his attacks on the galaxy and his attempts to kill both Raitlia and Ca’ii. But after a pause that felt like an eternity, Raitlia snapped a clipped _let them go, Ca’ii, and fly us back to the Gravestone_ , her hands clenched into fists, the words forced out from between gritted teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcann, a member of the Alliance for a whole two weeks, knows that most of the Alliance would be perfectly happy if the Outlander stuck him in a one seat spacecraft and fired him off Odessen. He instead chooses to use his isolation to critically examine his past, in hopes of finding a better path into the future. 
> 
> The last person he expects to approach him is the Outlander's sister, hand outstretched in friendship.

Ca’ii sits alone at a table in the cantina, idly swirling her ale in her mug. 

Her childhood, by and large, was happy. Fardon and Sai’rah may not have been flush with credits, but there was never any doubt that they loved all eight of the girls they took in off the streets of Nar Shaddaa, never any doubt that they would support whatever the girls chose to do with their lives. 

She almost can’t fathom a childhood where one parent cared for nothing but making his children into weapons, while the other seemed content to do nothing but stand by and watch this travesty happen. 

Her gaze, once again, drifts to the figure in white, solitary and silent at a hastily erected table in the back, a fair distance from the rest. His attention is focused on a datapad in front of him, rather than the frivolity around him, and around him is a distinct air of a person who doesn’t wish to be alone with their thoughts but has no choice in the matter. 

Of course, she understands why people won’t sit within two tables of Arcann. He’s been the boogeyman of the Alliance since the alliance was formed. Everyone remembers what he’s done. There isn’t a person on Odessen who hasn’t lost someone to an attack he ordered. Consequently, there has been no small amount of dissatisfied murmuring about Raitlia’s decision to allow him to join the Alliance, even after he bent the knee and pledged his fealty to her on no less than a galaxy-wide Holonet broadcast. 

Ca’ii shuts this complaining down, naturally, before it gets to Raitlia; no one is going to question whether her sister is doing the best for this alliance on her watch. Indeed, Raitlia commands a truly astonishing amount of respect from an incredible cross-section of ideologies; they’ll accept her decision, if not necessarily throw a parade for it. 

_But then again_ -

She’s run this mental path more than once. What he’s done against what he’s trying to do now. Being good at what she does, though, is due in no small part to her ability to judge character and sense ulterior motive, and there’s no gain for Arcann to have faked his way into the Alliance. With everyone assuming he’ll turn on them, either he’s playing the longest con she’s seen since Darmas Pollaran … or there is no con.

Arcann stands, seemingly oblivious to how conversation dies when he does, and strides out of the cantina. 

After a moment of fierce internal debate, Ca’ii slides her chair back and follows him. 

\--

She finds him on the walkway leading to the landing pad for the _Felicity_ , leaning against the railing and staring out at the Odessen wilderness; she stops a polite yet companionable distance away and mimics his stance. “You must be the most un-rowdy patron that cantina has ever seen.” 

His only answer is a noncommittal _hmm_. 

“I’m sure Qarac appreciates it, especially after having to clean up after Mandos, Sith, and me on occasion,” she continues. When the silence following this stretches out into discomfort, she clears her throat. “I’ll leave you to your ruminations, shall I?”

“Why did you follow me?” he asks, quiet. 

Why _did_ she? 

Ca’ii shrugs. “People haven’t exactly been lining up to welcome you to the Alliance. We all have our differences - I don’t know how Sana-Rae keeps that enclave of hers in line, just from watching my Jedi and Sith sisters interact in the past - but I imagine it’s a bit harder for people to overlook this particular difference, as it were.” 

“That didn’t answer my question.” 

“Well …." Ca'ii trails off, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I know what Raitlia has told me about Valkorion. I know what a monster he was when he was known as Vitiate; I saw what he did to Ziost. I can’t imagine being raised by someone like that, and it’s obvious how he mistreated you and Vaylin.” Though _mistreated_ feels inadequate. “I think that you’ve demonstrated your loyalties, and -” She stops, well aware of how ridiculous her next words are going to sound. “I guess I just thought maybe you could use a friend. Or at least an acquaintance. Especially while Senya is still in her coma, you’re pretty alone here, and no one deserves that.” 

For a long moment he doesn’t answer, and she starts to wonder if he’s going to at all. 

“So I’ve tried to murder the Outlander - who I have since learned is your sister - more than once, not to mention frozen you both in carbonite, waged a scorched earth war against the galaxy ... and you want to be my friend.” 

He arches one brow and Ca'ii can't help but notice that his eyes really are quite a pretty shade of blue. 

_Damn_. What is with her? 

She chuckles. “You may be lucky Aric isn’t Force-sensitive, or you might have taken a nasty tumble off a walkway by now. But as much as he glares at you, he won’t cross Raitlia. If she says you stay, you stay. He’ll just be grumpy. But he’s always grumpy. He was even grumpy when he met me, and I’m the most charming of the Sartoris sisters. Don’t take it personally.” 

“He’s right, though.” 

She considers. “I can understand where he’s coming from, yes. Normally anyone who hurts my sisters gets a personal asskicking from me. It likely didn’t escape your notice in the times that our paths crossed that my aim is nothing to sneeze at.”

“But?” 

“But like Aric … if Raitlia says you stay, you stay. And that means I’m not going to treat you like a pariah, if you’d rather not do everything alone. Of course, if you want to be left alone, I won’t force you to enjoy my scintillating company.” This time she grins. “But I think it’s possible you have better judgment than that.” 

Slowly, almost unwillingly, the corners of his mouth pull upward into a faint suggestion of a smile. “One might suggest that I’ve ably demonstrated my judgment is questionable, at best.”

At this unanticipated self-deprecation, Ca’ii laughs out loud. “Fair point. But so is mine. Ask Raitlia sometime. She had a list a few years ago; knowing her, she still has it. Anyway, I’m going to go back to my quarters and have a _good_ drink and see what’s on the Holonet. If you want to join me.” 

Did that sound flirty? She didn’t mean it to sound flirty, but sometimes that just happens without her trying. 

She isn’t sure she’d be unhappy if it did, which isn’t something she’s going to unpack tonight. 

Arcann shakes his head. “No.” A slight pause. “Not tonight,” he amends after a moment’s thought. He opens his mouth as if to say more, then closes it. “I … thank you for the invitation, however.” 

Ca’ii nods. “Consider it standing. Perhaps I’ll find you out here again.” She just can’t help herself. “You know, that’s my ship.” She points, somewhat unnecessarily, toward the XS sitting on the landing pad. “Doesn’t look like much, but she’s a beauty. I can understand why you’d want to come hang out with her.” 

To her shock, Arcann actually _chuckles_ , low and rumbling. “You caught me,” he says, deadpan and with no attempt to sound genuine. “I’m out here because of your ship, not for the solitude.”

“And here you said you don’t have good judgment.” Ca’ii steps back from the railing. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Have a good night,” and here she stops, flummoxed at how to address him. He’s been with the Alliance for two weeks, and kept entirely to himself since arriving. “Arcann. Prince Arcann? Former Em-”

He holds up a hand. “Really,” he says, somewhat pained. “Just Arcann.”

“Have a good night, just Arcann.” 

Now she’s sure she’s not flirting, not with that line. It’s the galaxy’s oldest joke, and Ca’ii can still hear her father using it on Kryn, eliciting a groan from the Miraluka every time. 

“And you, Captain Sartoris.” 

“Just Ca’ii is fine, if you prefer. I only make you call me Captain if you’re on my crew.” 

This is an absolute lie. The only person who still calls her “Captain” is Corso. 

Maybe she _is_ flirting. Shit. 

“In that case, enjoy your evening … just Ca’ii.” 

“Did you just -”

Arcann inclines his head and strides past her, leaving her on the walkway and grinning after him. 

This is going to be a problem. 

Pretty eyes are bad enough; he cannot also be secretly _funny_ and somewhat inscrutable and clearly suffering from Lost Lonely Nexu Cub Syndrome. 

Raitlia is going to kick her ass.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcann understands that he has been granted an extraordinary opportunity at a second chance that he in no way deserves. Painful as it may be, he is determined to make the utmost of his time, to understand why he did what he did and ensure it never happens again.

Arcann has been with the Alliance for a month, and about all that’s changed is that he’s no longer actively followed around the compound by Imperial or Republic soldiers who have no grasp of the concepts of stealth or unobtrusiveness. He ignores the looks, the murmurs, the glares. 

He’s here to stop his sister from destroying everything - Zakuul, the galaxy, herself. He’s not here to make friends. 

When he isn’t in the war room poring over after-action reports and future battle plans - he’s been pleasantly surprised at how easily Lana and Theron have accepted him into their strategy talks, their drive to defeat Vaylin clear and bright and burning - he’s pouring his thoughts onto a datapad, a stream of consciousness tracing a brutal, laborious path from his childhood to the present day. 

How did he let his father get his hooks into him so deeply that he was willing to bathe the galaxy in blood to prove his superiority? 

Vaylin he understands, even if he finds himself at odds with her now. Vaylin undoubtedly got the worst of their father’s treatment, sequestered in that torture chamber on Nathema. The Force void there scratched at his mind on the single trip he made, to retrieve his sister from that gods-forsaken Anomid who’d been experimenting on her; it was a foregone conclusion that she, subjected to all manner of tests and ‘training’ and brainwashing, would not return the same empathetic, cheerful, loving girl she’d been when Valkorion - terrified of her potential - banished her. 

That was his goal, after all: a living weapon he could muzzle at any time. 

Now Vaylin reminds him of a toglir he and Thexan had found in the woods one day when they couldn’t have been more than ten years old; its leg snapped by a hunter’s trap, it was huddled under a bush, keening plaintively. Thexan, always the most tenderhearted of the three of them, immediately dropped into a crouch and stretched out his hand, fully intent on taking the thing home and nursing it back to health. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done such a thing, though he’d learned to hide his efforts from his father after Valkorion had snapped the neck of the ffalia bird Thexan had been caring for, proclaiming that such “frivolous activities” would make his boys weak.

The toglir, panicked and overwhelmed with pain, bit Thexan’s hand hard enough to draw blood (and ultimately ended up leaving a scar across the back of his hand and his palm that was still visible years later). Tears had welled up in Thexan’s eyes as he scrambled backward. 

“I was trying to help it! Why did it bite me?”

Even then, Arcann had been more pragmatic than his brother, more wholeheartedly chasing their father’s approval. 

“Because it’s a hurt, dumb, scared animal, Thexan. Leave it. It’s up to Zildrog if it lives or dies," he'd said with all the unshakeable confidence of a ten year old, "not up to you."

Arcann can still remember the disappointment in his brother’s eyes. The way his bottom lip quivered, just a bit. 

“It’s gonna _die_ , Arcann.” 

“Then that’s what Zildrog wills, isn’t it?” 

Thexan had been morose the rest of the afternoon and had dragged a grumbling Arcann back out there the next morning, a pilfered hunk of roast fowl bundled under his shirt … but of course by then the animal was gone. 

There's always a bigger fish, as the saying goes.

Thexan had not, on this particular occasion, appreciated Arcann sharing that saying with him, hurling the roasted meat into the woods and rounding on his twin. 

"You could have helped it!" His youthful shout - rough with unshed tears and much higher than it would eventually end up - startled birds from the tree branches above their heads. "Instead, you were like -” Thexan cast around for the worst insult he could think of. “You were like _him_." 

The accusation had stung, even then. "Thexan -" 

"Let's just go back." He'd kicked at a rock and stomped away, leaving Arcann to trail behind him. 

Thexan had stopped bringing home strays altogether shortly after that incident, Arcann recalls on the afternoon he jots all this down in his datapad, seated in cool green grass under a massive tree, the serenity around him at odds with the turmoil in his heart. 

And when he needed Thexan the most, Arcann had been alone; he'd let his hatred for their father corrode his soul to such a degree that he'd struck down his twin months before, for the high crime of preventing patricide. 

Being driven by nothing but revenge meant living in a hell of his own making, but at least it inured him to all this regret, all these memories, all this breath-stealing pain that sits like a boulder on his chest. 

The Odessen wilderness blurs into streaks of watercolor as the datapad falls into the grass. 


End file.
